A Noble Name; or, Dönninghausen

AN UNEXPECTED RETURN.

Johanna brought the parure to her aunt. "He will not refuse to accept aid from you," she said. Then they sat at table conversing upon indifferent subjects, and the same talk went on in the drawing-room while they were drinking coffee. When at last Magelone sat down at the piano, and Aunt Thekla, wearied with the exertions of the day, dropped asleep in the corner of her sofa, Johanna slipped out into the park.

Her heart was heavy. Otto's words, 'I cannot accept such a sacrifice from you,' had wounded her, in proving to her that she was not as near to him as she had thought. "I wish grandpapa were at home again; he is the only one who really cares for me," she said to herself. And, as she leaned against the wall of the park at the end of the linden avenue and listlessly plucked some monthly roses from the marble vase beside her, she thought that the tears that filled her eyes were shed for her grandfather's absence.

A quick, firm step upon the gravel startled her from her revery. She hastily wiped her eyes, but did not look around until Otto's voice said close beside her, "Forgive me, dear Johanna. I hear, it is true, that you do not like to be interrupted in your evening strolls; nevertheless you must allow me to thank you before I leave here again to-morrow morning."

"Are you going so soon?" she asked in faltering tones.

"Would you like to have me stay?" he replied. "Do not be conventional, Johanna; I want to know your real feeling."

"We should all be glad to keep you here," she said.

He looked at her sadly, and rejoined, in a melancholy tone, "I asked how you felt; I care little about the others. But you,—what fault do you find with me, Johanna? I ought not, indeed, to ask such a question to-day. You all blame me, and you are apparently right in doing so. But before—I mean when you wrote me that letter—we parted more than friends; and then came that cold, stiff note!"

"It was not meant to be so; I meant it should be kind," she replied, without looking up at him.

"So much the worse!" he cried. "You meant to and could not. But I have no right to reproach you when you have just done me so friendly a service."

"Which you did not wish to accept from me," she answered him, reproachfully.

"Johanna, I trust you understand why it was so much harder for me to accept this kind of help from you than from the others?"

"Because you do not know me so well; I am not so near to you," she said.

"You do not, you cannot believe that," he hastily interposed. "To me you seem far nearer to me, and therefore it humiliates me all the more to——"

"Where are you?" Magelone's voice called from a side-path at this moment.

"Here!" called Johanna, who hardly knew whether to be glad or sorry for the interruption.

"Oh, dear! I had so much to say," whispered Otto, as he took Johanna's hand and pressed it to his lips. "One word more while we are alone,—would you like to have me stay here a few days?"

"Most certainly. Did I not tell you so?" Johanna replied, vainly endeavouring to withdraw her hand from his.

"And your letter was not the expression of your displeasure with me?" he went on, still in a whisper, as he leaned towards her; but, before she could answer, Magelone's light gown appeared from among the trees.

"Beg pardon if I intrude," she said, in a tone which was meant to be teasing, but which only succeeded in sounding cross.

"Not at all," Otto replied, divining her jealous emotion. "Come take part in our consultation; we were discussing the question of my either remaining here for a few days or returning directly to my garrison."

Magelone joined them. "Return directly? 'Nonsense!' as grandpapa would say, and as I say too. It is your duty, my noble knight, to stay here and entertain us and coax Aunt Thekla out of her melancholy mood. Not in vain have you called me your sovereign. I command,—you obey. Come now to Aunt Thekla on the veranda; it is intolerably sultry here under the trees."

So saying, she put her hand within Otto's arm and drew him away.

"Are you coming, Johanna?" he said, holding out his hand to her.

"In a moment; I only want to pluck a few roses," she made reply. But she stood motionless for a while, looking after the pair as they vanished in the dim depths of the linden avenue. Yes, she was leading him away, his sovereign, who, as he had confessed on that January evening, had ruled him by coquetry, and who would still so rule him, for the love which he had summoned to his rescue did not appear to have discovered the magic word that could break the spell. Or was it that he himself had not meant to summon it? What would he have said had Magelone not made her appearance? Idle questions upon which it were folly to ponder. Johanna walked towards the castle. Magelone was right; it was intolerably sultry beneath these trees, the air was heavy with the fragrance of the lindens. She wished she could have Elinor saddled and gallop off through the dewy meadows in the valley, or along the edge of the forest, but she dreaded Aunt Thekla's amazement, Magelone's ridicule, and Otto's companionship, so she gave up the idea.

The next morning early Otto took the jewels to town to procure a loan of Löbel Wolf, but returned in high displeasure by the next train. The old broker and curiosity-dealer would not loan money on the jewels unless with the permission of the Freiherr or his sister. When the young man had asked him angrily whether his own name were not enough to give as security, Löbel Wolf had declared that he wanted no security, he was but acting in accordance with his rule as a business-man. All that he would consent to do was to give Otto a written acknowledgment to be signed by Fräulein Thekla. At first the old lady looked grave, and made objections, since the jewels were not hers but Johanna's, but when the latter entreated her not to complicate matters by refusing to sign the paper, she complied, and Otto went back to town by the noon train.

There was no further difficulty. Otto received the necessary sum with his ticket of deposit, and returned to Dönninghausen, in spite of a tremendous thunder-storm, light of heart, and in entire unconsciousness that a far more terrible tempest was gathering above his head.

Löbel Wolf, so soon as the young man left him, betook himself to the examination of the parure. In his little office behind his shop, stuffed from floor to ceiling with all sorts of curiosities, he sat at his desk, and held the jewels beneath the light of the gas-jet perpetually burning there. They were clumsily set, but he was enough of a connoisseur to see plainly what they would be if set by an artist, and the wish was aroused in the soul of the old man, whose hobby was precious stones, to become the possessor of these.

But would the Freiherr sell them? The Dönninghausens were among the richest of the neighbouring nobility. Löbel Wolf wagged his gray head: a period of embarrassment might come for even the wealthiest, and it seemed more and more probable to Löbel Wolf that it had come for the Dönninghausens. One of the Freiherr's grandsons was making an expensive tour, another was marrying more rank than money, and the third was involved in debt and dissipation. Resolving to propose to the Freiherr the purchase of the parure so soon as he should return from Vienna, Löbel Wolf locked up the seductive stones in his safe.

But the spell of their sparkle, under which he had fallen, left him no rest, and even before Otto had reached Dönninghausen Löbel Wolf had decided to write to the Freiherr in Vienna.

For Otto, life and the world had taken on a new aspect since he had received the money which was to be his salvation. Aunt Thekla, when she handed him the jewels, had obtained from him a promise that he would confess the whole affair to his grandfather as soon as he possibly could.

"It will be an evil hour for us," she said, "but it would be worse still if my brother should discover the absence of the jewels before we had made our confession. If your plan of procuring the money from the bailiff had been practicable, you would have had to speak with your grandfather without delay."

Otto had assented, and had promised to await at Dönninghausen his grandfather's return, but as he rode back he changed his mind. He reflected that it would be cruel to trouble his grandfather with anything so disagreeable immediately upon his return home, and that it would be far easier for the old Herr, as well as for all concerned, if Aunt Thekla or Johanna would select some favourable moment for the confession and tell him all, and that it would be very desirable for the chief culprit to avoid the first outbreak of displeasure. He therefore determined to take his departure at an early date; it would not be impossible to convince Aunt Thekla of the advisability of this. Thus everything was arranged delightfully, and he could enjoy himself to the full during the rest of his stay at Dönninghausen.

The thunder-shower changed to a steady rain, which made walks or rides in the open air impossible for a time.

"'Tis a pity; we were just going to have such a pleasant day in the woods, instead of which we must drive to Klausenburg," Magelone said, the first morning. "For Otto's sake," she added in an undertone; and Aunt Thekla, who would rather have stayed at home, consented to go, since 'the poor boy must have some amusement.'

The one visit brought on others. At Klausenburg they received an invitation to Remmingen; at Remmingen a breakfast was arranged at Grünroda; on the fourth day there was the celebration of the Countess Elfrida's birthday at Klausenburg, and on the fifth all were to assemble at Dönninghausen for a dance.

"To celebrate Waldemar's marriage. I assure you grandpapa would be delighted," said Magelone, when Aunt Thekla looked rather dubious, and again the old lady gave way.

The Freiherr had written only once, on the day after his arrival in Vienna. The journey had been made very comfortably, he was very well, and expressed himself pleased with Waldemar's betrothed as well as with the entire Walburg family. The time of his return was undecided. The young couple were to leave for St. Petersburg immediately after the marriage, but he might pass a few days with his new connections, and would announce the day of his return in his next.

Until this letter arrived, then, Otto decided to remain in Dönninghausen, and Magelone to amuse herself as much as possible. So upon the evening of the 18th of June the castle windows shone brilliantly through the rain, a merry party assembled in the rooms, which were decked with flowers, and the dancing soon began to the sound of the piano played by the village school-master. Magelone, in airy, floating white, with white roses in her gold-gleaming curls, was, as Otto never wearied of whispering to her, the queen of the evening; and even Aunt Thekla, who had felt strangely depressed all day long, was aroused from her melancholy as she watched the pretty creature, with her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, flying through the ball-room.

Otto, too, was, or seemed to be, the gayest of the gay this evening. Aunt Thekla could not tell whether to blame or to admire him. Once as he passed Johanna, who, being still in mourning, did not dance, he said, "I would rather have one quiet hour with you than all this bustle;" but was this more than a cousinly expression? and which was his true self,—the laughing, careless creature which he seemed usually, or the grave, quiet man who talked so seriously to her when they were alone together? He was just passing now with the Countess Elfrida. He must have been especially charming, for she tapped him upon the arm with her fan, after her own hail-fellow-well-met style, and laughed so loudly that the hall re-echoed.

The sight was distasteful to Johanna; she withdrew to the nearest window-recess, leaned her burning forehead against the pane, and looked out into the dripping rain. A carriage drove into the court-yard; had not the guests all arrived yet? She recognized the Thalrode hack, and when the servant, wrapped in a water-proof, who was sitting beside the driver, looked up, she thought she recognized him, and her heart seemed to stand still.

"It is not possible," she thought. At that instant Leo rushed out of the house, barking loudly, leaped down the steps, and had nearly thrown himself under the wheels of the coach. The door was opened, and Johanna saw that she had not been mistaken. The Freiherr, assisted by Christian, got out of it.

How she contrived to leave the ball-room she could not tell. She first collected her wits when she heard her grandfather's voice on the stairs, and she hurried to meet him.

"Here is Johanna," he said, coldly. At his departure he had embraced her; now he only held out his hand, which she kissed, not knowing what to say.

"I come at an inconvenient time. You have a party,—a dance, I hear. Go, go; don't let me interrupt it," he growled. "Stop!" he added, as she was retreating timidly; "I do not wish you to proclaim my arrival with that ghastly face. It shall not be said that the return of the master of the house scared away the guests from Dönninghausen. You may tell my sister that I am here, but no one else, and I will not see even Thekla until the fiddling is over; then I wish to speak to you all. All,—do you hear?—to Monsieur Otto especially." With these words he passed on, accompanied by Leo, who went on barking, whining, and wagging his tail in a rapture of welcome.

Johanna stood dismayed. From the tone in which the Freiherr spoke, she saw only too clearly that he knew all. The many sounds from the ball-room pained her, and when she returned to it she seemed to be surrounded by the confused images of a dream. She withdrew more persistently than before into corners and window-recesses, and avoided Aunt Thekla. In spite of the commission she had received, she could not make up her mind to mention to her her brother's return. She feared lest the old lady should be unable to conceal her agitation.

Nevertheless, the intelligence was not long suppressed. Perhaps some one of the guests had seen the Freiherr arrive, or one of the servants in spite of his prohibition had mentioned it. Groups were shortly seen whispering together here and there, Countess Klausenburg gave the signal for departure unusually early, and half an hour afterward the last carriage drove out of the court-yard.

When Magelone and Otto, who had been taking leave of the guests, came up the stairs chatting gayly, they were confronted by Aunt Thekla and Johanna.

"Do you not know," the old lady asked, "that your grandfather is here?"

"The deuce he is! Then I'm off!" cried Otto.

"It would be just like you!" the Freiherr called out in tones of thunder from the threshold of the drawing-room door, where his tall figure appeared at this moment. "Falsehood and cowardice belong together. But come in; I wish to speak with you all." With these words he stood aside and let them pass him into the drawing-room, which he then entered, closing the door after him.

Aunt Thekla collected herself by a mighty effort. "Dear Johann!" she stammered, "I am delighted to see you here again."

"Delighted? You look so," he growled in reply. "But never mind: the present is no time for sentiment. Sit down and listen to what I have to say."

The ladies obeyed. Otto stood leaning against the chimney-piece. The Freiherr paced the room heavily to and fro. After a pause he said,—

"First, Thekla, let me say that it seems to me rather unbecoming to give entertainments in my house while I am away. No discussion, I entreat!" he added, waving his hand forbiddingly. "I know it was not your idea. Magelone, silly child that she is, probably arranged the nonsense. But we old people are here to be a check upon the young ones. Instead of which you aid and abet—not Magelone alone——" He broke off, as was his custom when he dreaded his own violence, then took a letter from his pocket with a trembling hand and threw it into his sister's lap. "There, read that," he said, with difficulty commanding his voice. "Löbel Wolf offers to buy the jewels you have pawned. It has come to this with the Dönninghausens; you have brought it to this! And you, Johanna,"—his tone grew louder and sharper,—"you have proved to me that you do not possess a spark of filial piety. Family jewels like your grandmother's bridal parure are not to be thrown away for the sake of such a scoundrel."

Otto started forward. "Sir," he cried, "pray control yourself. I am an officer——"

"You have been an officer," the Freiherr corrected him. "To-morrow morning you will hand in your resignation. The man who forfeits his word as you have done can no longer wear the king's uniform; or do you dare deny that you have been gambling again?"

Otto had grown pale. He seemed to wish to speak, but only breathed heavily and hung his head.

Aunt Thekla felt impelled to interfere. "Dear Johann, I entreat you——" she began in a trembling voice.

The Freiherr interrupted her. "Hush, Thekla; you understand nothing about it," he said, harshly.

But she was not to be intimidated. "What will become of the poor boy?" she asked, softly.

"You are right,—the poor boy!" the Freiherr exclaimed, with a scornful laugh. "It is strange that such fellows can always wheedle you women. But make yourself easy, the 'poor boy' will be treated better than he deserves. He is my grandson, unfortunately; is a Dönninghausen,—I cannot turn him out into the streets. I will at least give him one more trial. He shall return to agriculture,—I ought to have insisted upon it after the war. If he does well, I will, perhaps, give him one of my estates to farm; if not——" The Freiherr made a backward wave of his hand as a finish to his sentence, and then went on pacing to and fro, while no one ventured to speak.

The minutes passed: the ticking of the tall clock had a weird sound in the stillness; at last the Freiherr stood still. "Let the disgraceful affair be disposed of as decently as possible," he said. "It must be announced that Otto leaves the army of his own free choice. To-morrow morning at eight the fine fellow must come to my room for further orders. As for the jewels, of course they must be redeemed and restored to Johanna, but they must be given to me to keep for her until you have all acquired some sense."

After these words the old Herr strode angrily from the room. Aunt Thekla, whose bedroom was just underneath her brother's, heard him pacing to and fro in it until dawn.

A BIRTHDAY FÊTE.

Otto obeyed his grandfather's commands, handed in his resignation, and was shortly established as a volunteer assistant in the administration of Count Klausenburg's model estates, a step which naturally gave rise to the most contradictory reports. According to some, Otto had run in debt again, and the Freiherr had now 'taken him in hand;' others stated from a trustworthy source that the young man had broken away from all his associations on account of an unfortunate love-affair; others, again, had heard that quarrels with his comrades had caused him to leave his regiment. His fellow-officers were convinced that he never would 'stick to agriculture,' but would soon return to the army; and the youthful fair bewailed his resignation, declaring that he was not half so handsome in civilian's dress.

Elfrida Klausenburg, the shining light of the family, put by all these reports and explanations with a meaning smile. The dress of an heir was even more becoming than a uniform, she declared, and it seemed to her only just and fitting that in view of Johann Leopold's continued ill health the Freiherr should contemplate the possibility of another grandson's proving his heir, and that he should wish to educate this grandson in a way to enable him to administer such extensive estates with judgment and skill.

Countess Elfrida repeated this so often and so decidedly, old Count Klausenburg smiled so diplomatically when he declared that he knew really nothing of Otto's circumstances and prospects, and Otto was so continually at Dönninghausen, that all reports to his disadvantage gradually died away, and he came to be looked upon more and more as the future heir. It did no good for him to contradict this view of the matter whenever it was brought to his knowledge. The Dönninghausens had always been rather reserved with regard to their family arrangements, and out of consideration for Johann Leopold they were of course especially inclined to secrecy in the present case. That Otto never ceased to pay this consideration to his cousin, even in intercourse with his most intimate friends, spoke well for his delicacy, his prudence, and his trustworthiness. It was remarkable how many excellent qualities, hitherto concealed in him, now came to light.

Otto knew that the many attentions which he received were paid, for the most part, to the future heir; but he was rather vain than proud, and vanity delights in the homage paid to appearances. So he allowed himself to be borne along in contemptuous ease upon the current of universal favour without asking whither, and helped Elfrida Klausenburg to build castles in the air, the rule of which she was resolved, in spite of all rivals, to share with him.

The most dangerous of these rivals seemed to her to be Magelone. "It is disgraceful the way she flirts with Otto Dönninghausen," the young lady said to her sisters; "but I hope he is too clever to allow himself to be caught. Any one can see that it is the heir she is after."

Amelie, whose years forbade her joining in this contest, replied with some asperity, "The same thing might just as well be said of others who until now never seemed to think much of the young man." And Helena, who had for some time played the part of a man-hater, declared, sharply, that for her part she thought it doubtful whether Magelone were flirting with Otto or he with her. Elfrida replied to her sisters' remarks only by an indifferent shrug. She was sure that Otto had fallen a victim to her flaxen hair and blue eyes, and knew from his own lips that he only rode over to Dönninghausen to please his grandfather.

It was true that these visits formed part of the programme laid down by the Freiherr, but if Otto had not found them agreeable he would soon have devised a way to curtail them. His intercourse with his family had proved pleasant beyond his anticipations. His grandfather, immediately after meals,—during which, it is true, he paid less attention to Otto than formerly,—retired to his study, where Johanna read aloud to him; and then Aunt Thekla would try, by redoubled kindness, to indemnify the 'poor boy' for the old Herr's coldness, and Magelone was so enchanted to have the monotony of her days relieved by her cousin's visits, that her coquetry wore at times the disguise of sincere affection. Even the diminution of his intercourse with Johanna, caused by the Freiherr's claims upon her time, was rather a relief than a disappointment to the young man, for, although she never had referred to the help she had been so ready to give him, he could not but feel a sense of obligation and embarrassment when with her. Nevertheless, at times she exercised the old influence upon him, and then if he could speak with her alone, which was rarely the case, he would complain that they saw so little of each other, accusing her of intentionally avoiding him, and assuring her that only the prospect of her society had induced him to comply with his grandfather's arrangements.

"You influence me for the best; you arouse and bring to the surface all that there is in me worth anything. With you I am cleverer, stronger, better than at any other time," he said, and he was really sincere so long as he could gaze into her eyes. But when she had left him he seemed to breathe more freely, and Magelone's graceful folly appeared to him more graceful than ever.

Thus the last half of August was reached, and his birthday drew near. The morning before, Aunt Thekla had summoned up all her courage and reminded her brother of it. "As to-morrow is Saturday, he will come to dinner as usual," she added, "and I wanted to ask you, dear Johann, if you would not like to have a few friends invited. No party, only from eight to ten people, perhaps——"

"What for?" the Freiherr burst out, and she lowered her eyes before his, which flashed angrily. "Not, I hope, to celebrate that fellow's birthday. He will be thirty years old, and he conducts himself like a boy of twenty."

Aunt Thekla took courage again. "Dear Johann, there is more joy over one sinner that repenteth——"

"Repenteth?" the Freiherr again interrupted her. "There's no question of that here. Monsieur accommodates himself to circumstances for the present, but he is ready for a fresh escapade at any moment. No, Thekla, there's no occasion for slaughtering the fatted calf. If you wish to bake the boy a cake, I've no objection; I'll put the customary bit of money underneath it and wish him joy decently; but no further festivities, I beg."

It was impossible to transgress these orders; and although Aunt Thekla took care that the cake and its customary wreath were provided, and even increased the Freiherr's 'bit of money' to the extent that her resources would permit, and although Magelone and Johanna presented their gifts duly, Otto felt the depression which weighed upon the family generally, and it did not need the Freiherr's homily, in which he was reminded that now he was thirty years of age and must put away boyish follies, to put him thoroughly out of humour.

The crosser he felt, however, the more he resolved not to show it. In defiance of the old Herr, who, he said to himself, was always doing his best to crush out all independent thought and action, he persisted, undeterred by Aunt Thekla's warning glances, in provoking conversation at the dinner-table, and, failing in this attempt, he proposed as soon as the meal was over, in direct opposition to the custom of the family, to take coffee under the three oaks in the forest,—a spot dedicated by all the gentry in the country round to parties of pleasure in the open air.

The Freiherr, who had just reached the door of the dining-hall, paused. "Well, child, you are not going to absent yourself from the party?" he said, looking over his shoulder at Johanna, who was following him. "I will do without you to-day."

She cast one longing glance towards the group at the window, and then looked into her grandfather's gloomy face. "Thank you," she made reply, stepping up to his side; "I would rather stay at home with you."

The next moment the door closed behind them. Otto bit his lip impatiently, Magelone laughed derisively. "Oh, this Johanna!" she exclaimed, irritated by Otto's evident vexation, "how clever she is! She has added in a twinkling another ray to the saintly halo around her brow."

"But, my child," Aunt Thekla interposed, reproachfully, "you cannot mean—Johanna is really so good,—so simple,—so modest."

"There is just where she shows her art, my dear aunt, in preventing almost every one from observing the pains she takes to make herself of importance," Magelone rejoined. "A simple creature like myself would have said, 'Thanks, my dear Otto; it is rather too warm for your scheme.' But she sacrifices herself for grandpapa,—stays in a cool room entirely for his sake."

"You are unjust," Otto said, with unusual emphasis.

"And you are partial," Magelone declared. "But wait; your eyes will be opened. At present it would be pleasant to close them," she added, changing her tone, "in this intolerable heat." And, fluttering her fan diligently, she followed Aunt Thekla into the drawing-room, where the old lady took her accustomed seat in the corner of the sofa for a short nap, and her niece seated herself near her in a rocking-chair, and from beneath her drooping eyelids watched Otto, who had withdrawn to the centre window in an ill humour and was turning over the leaves of a periodical.

Magelone's fan fluttered faster. How strange that Otto should not avail himself of this rare opportunity for an undisturbed tête-à-tête! Had he been really provoked by her attack upon Johanna? If this were the case, he must be duly punished. A minute or two passed in impatient expectation, and then, when Aunt Thekla's regular breathing betrayed her unconsciousness, Magelone called, in an undertone, "Otto!" He looked up, and she signed with her fan towards an ottoman near her.

He obeyed, drew the ottoman close beside her, put both hands upon the arm of the rocking-chair, and looked into Magelone's mocking, glimmering eyes.

"Well?" she asked, after a short pause.

"Well?" he repeated. "I thought you had something to say to me."

"Yes, all sorts of things," she replied, and leaned back her head without ceasing to look at him. "First of all, I want to know why you are so cross on your birthday?"

"Cross?" he repeated, bitterly. "Have I not cause to be seriously out of humour? Thirty years old, and what am I?—what do I possess? Not even a prospect! But it is no easy matter to put one's self in another's place. You settle the affair by calling a man cross when he is sad, then shrug your shoulders and let him go. Ill humour deserves neither sympathy nor consolation."

Magelone's laugh sounded forced: the serious turn the conversation was taking was not at all to her mind. "Oh, we are positive monsters," she said, mockingly. "Nevertheless, it is not worth while to call black white. Honour bright, fair sir; did not your ill humour come on first when Johanna refused to go to the woods with us?"

And as she spoke the elfish eyes gleamed strangely into his own. Scorn, anger, jealousy, flickered and danced in their depths. He could not resist the spell they wove around him to-day, and, adopting Magelone's tone, he replied, "Honour bright, fair lady; I was greatly depressed when I came here, and have been so for a long time."

"Elfrida Klausenburg maintains the contrary; the dear girl is charmed with your constant cheerfulness; she raves of the 'perpetual sunshine of your soul.' Oh, dear Otto, when that grenadier in petticoats grows sentimental——" She laughed, and her eyes seconded her laughter. "Oh, oh, is that the 'perpetual sunshine?'" she added, when Otto frowned darkly; "what would Elfrida say——"

"For heaven's sake spare me!" Otto exclaimed, crossly. "What does the Countess Klausenburg know of me?—what do we care for her?"

Again the elfish eyes glimmered strangely, but before Magelone could reply the drawing-room door opened.

"The Countesses Klausenburg and Herr von Rothkirch!" the servant announced.

Aunt Thekla started up from her nap, and the guests made their appearance,—Elfrida first, in a short white gown with blue ribbons, her hair floating over her shoulders, her face red with the heat, and her eyes beaming. Whilst Amelie and Herr von Rothkirch paid their respects to the ladies of the house, she hurried up to Otto.

"'Blest be the day that gave thee bi-i-rth,'" she chanted, attempting to toss a wreath upon his head; a misfortune which he averted by catching it in his hands. "Oh, you are a naughty man to run away from our congratulations," she went on in the midst of his confused thanks; "you wanted to pass your birthday incognito, but we are not to be cheated of our fête. Dear Fräulein Dönninghausen, dearest Magelone, we are here on behalf of our parents, to carry you off by force if needs must. 'And art thou not willing——'"

"Elfrida!" Amelie interrupted her, reprovingly, and, turning to Aunt Thekla, she continued: "Papa and mamma have arranged a little picnic in honour of the day, to which they send you a cordial invitation. The Remmingens and the Grünroda people are coming, with, of course, the usual amount of pastors, doctors, and bailiffs. Papa and mamma drove on before with Helena, and we are come in the char-à-banc to take our dear guests with us."

"The rendezvous is at the three oaks," put in Herr von Rothkirch, as he clapped his heels together and made a low bow.

"At the three oaks? Oh, now I understand your little game!" Magelone said in a low voice to Otto.

"You are mistaken," he whispered; "all this is a surprise to me——" but Elfrida did not permit him to proceed. "No whispering, no plotting," she cried. "Get your hats and gloves, and come immediately."

"But my dress," said Magelone, looking down at her blue muslin gown.

"Ah, madame, you look charming, as you always do," Herr von Rothkirch assured her. "This blue drapery seems woven by fairy hands to deck the fairy queen."

Magelone smiled graciously; coarse as the compliment was, it was better than none at all.

"Aunt Thekla, what do you say? Shall we go?" she asked, and her tone betrayed her wish to hear a 'yes' in reply.

"My child, I do not know," the old lady answered. "To celebrate a birthday outside of one's family circle,—I don't know what my brother would think——"

"The Freiherr must come too," Elfrida interposed. "Hurry, Magelone; we will go bring him. I will tell him that we Klausenburgs as good as belong to the family——"

"Elfrida!" Amelie admonished her sister in a whisper, and tried to detain her by her gown; but with a twitch she extricated herself,—rather sacrifice a flounce than a whim,—drew Magelone away with her, and sang as she hurried to the Freiherr's room, in her thin shrill soprano, 'Give me your hand, my darling.' Herr von Rothkirch expressed his belief that the Freiherr could not possibly resist twin stars of such beauty and wit.

But he did. He consented 'gruffly,' as Elfrida expressed it, that his family should take part in the festival, and even insisted that Johanna should join the rest. He himself, he said, was an old man, and not fit for such merry-makings. He made no allusion to the Klausenburgs' having arranged the party in his grandson's honour, and intimidated the overconfident young lady who had gone to him to such a degree—how, she could not herself tell—that she declared to Magelone that no power on earth should induce her ever again to cross the threshold of her grandfather's study. "How strange it is," she added, "that the most amiable of men should be the grandson of that ogre!"

'The most amiable of men' soon succeeded in dispersing Elfrida's annoyance. Her customary high spirits returned during the drive, and when they reached the forest her loud laugh echoed in shrill discord with the peaceful woodland sounds.

It was still noisier beneath the three oaks; there was the rattle of cups and plates, and the talking and laughter of the various groups seated at their ease in the shade. On one side the deep bass of the Forstmeister von Grünroda resounded, and on the other the cackling laugh of Colonel von Remmingen arose amid the droning monotone of Countess Klausenburg, and the commanding tones of the stout wife of the bailiff, to whom the arrangement of the feast was intrusted, and who was assisted by her nephew and niece, and by the Remmingen nursery, as Elfrida called the colonel's three fair rosy daughters, aged respectively sixteen, seventeen, and eighteen, while loud shouts from another group greeted the anecdotes of the jovial doctor of the village.

Then came the welcome of the new arrivals, with question and reply as to the Freiherr's absence. Suddenly, at a sign from Count Klausenburg, a horn sounded from the neighbouring shrubbery, and the younger portion of the assembly hastily grouped themselves together, and sang a birthday carol to the air of 'Ye shining stars above us,' with an obligato on the horn.

Under the disguise of intentional exaggeration the song paid to the hero of the hour every compliment which he could possibly accept, and which Otto certainly seemed to accept as he listened with sparkling eyes and a self-satisfied smile. When the last tones had died away, and singers and audience thronged around him to shake hands with him and wish him joy, he expressed his pleasure in the charming surprise, and declared that he never could forget this most delightful birthday fête.

"Is he speaking truth, or playing a part?" Johanna asked herself. She had listened with downcast eyes in painful confusion while she heard Otto's chanted praise for having in early youth supplemented the glory of the soldier with the pursuit of serious labour, for which field and grove offered him their best gifts, and the grateful soil promised to bind him in imperishable fetters of fairest flowers.

"A charming poem, is it not? What a delightful talent is that of the poet!" Herr von Rothkirch repeated again and again, as he passed from group to group.

"Indescribably stupid and out of taste,—actually insufferable!" Magelone whispered to Aunt Thekla.

The old lady drew her aside in terror. "Pray, pray, child, take care!" she said. "Countess Klausenburg has just confided to me that Elfrida composed the poem!"

"Of course; who but she?" Magelone pouted. "She personates the 'grateful soil'; the fair Elfrida is shamelessly throwing herself at his head. Just look! Just look!"

Otto was just then bowing before her; she held out both hands to him, and she looked around triumphantly as he kissed them.

"He cannot but thank her," Aunt Thekla said, by way of excuse. Magelone clinched her little fists in angry disgust. Herr Rothkirch approached her with his unlucky question, "Charming poem, is it not?"

Aunt Thekla looked anxiously at Magelone, who, however, had collected herself, and with a laugh, in which Herr Rothkirch did not notice the mockery, she took his arm and followed him to where the younger portion of the assembly were engaged in earnest consultation. Otto and Elfrida came towards them from the other side.

"At last!" Otto whispered to Magelone.

She shrugged her shoulders, scarce perceptibly. "Take care that Elfrida does not hear you," she whispered in return; and then she turned to Herr von Rothkirch with her gayest air. "Yes, with pleasure. Puss-in-the-corner is delightful," she replied to his question, and in an instant she had flitted to the nearest tree and clasped its trunk with a burst of silvery laughter.

Elfrida seized Otto's hand. "Here, here! there are two trees left," she cried, and dragged him away with her. He was her property to-day,—the captive of her bow and spear.

Somewhat apart in the deep shade, unnoticed and unmissed, Johanna sat gazing about her with veiled eyes, and feeling separated as by invisible barriers from all this merry-making.

"Am I, then, so much older than my years?" she asked herself, "or is it really so long since I enjoyed my youth and the summer-time in Lindenbad? Or does my father's grave still lie between me and life?"

She looked towards the players. Otto, who had lost his tree, was looking about for another, amid the mocking shouts and laughter of those who flitted past him exchanging places. Suddenly Elfrida came leaping along, more like a Valkyria than ever. He tried to catch her; she sprang aside, tripped and fell, and was clasped the next moment in Otto's arms. Only for an instant; in the next she extricated herself, and laughed in her careless fashion, unmindful of the looks and shrugs of the lookers-on, whilst Otto contemplated her with a triumphant smile.

"Is it possible that all this clumsy homage can gratify him?" thought Johanna, "or has he, perhaps, found the all-delivering love which he sought awhile ago from me? Elfrida's light clasp of his hand before she left him certainly looked like an understanding between them."

Involuntarily she arose, to flee from a sight that so pained her. Otto, who was hastening to the tree that Elfrida had left, saw her, and was at her side in an instant. "Where are you going, Johanna?" he asked. "Come, join our game——"

"I cannot," she whispered, withdrew the hand he would have taken, and hurried away, for Elfrida came rushing up to take possession of Otto's tree, and her peals of laughter rang in Johanna's ears as she slowly sauntered along the woodland path.

For a moment Otto looked after her, and was conscious of a sensation of annoyance; he ought to have paid her some attention before; she had a right to expect it of him. But ought she not, just because she had laid him under obligations, to be doubly careful to avoid everything that could remind him of these obligations? Ought she not, if she really liked him, to take pleasure in his cheerfulness? Instead of which she adopted a tragic, sentimental air. He did not feel at all disposed to sympathize with it at present.

With a shrug he put a stop to such reflections, and was soon, apparently, entirely appropriated by Elfrida; in fact, however, not a gesture, not a look, not a laugh, of Magelone's escaped him. Her graceful coquetry asserted its charm more than ever to-day with old and young, men and women alike; Otto alone seemed excluded from her magic circle. He was possessed by an ardent desire to force her to pay heed to him, and, finding himself alone for an instant, he hurriedly tore a leaf from his note-book, scribbled a couple of lines upon it, folded the paper tightly, and awaited an opportunity to thrust it into Magelone's hand. The childish games that were the order of the day would surely give him the occasion he sought.

He waited, however, in vain. As often as he met her, Magelone evaded him like a breeze or a wave. The game was almost over; the voices no longer sounded so merry, the movements were no longer so elastic. The summons by the horn to supper beneath the three oaks was obeyed willingly and without delay.

Magelone, who seemed the most fatigued, had taken Herr von Rothkirch's arm, and was walking slowly along behind the rest. Suddenly she remembered that she had left her parasol where they had been playing. Rothkirch went back to look for it; she stood still awaiting him.

In an instant Otto was beside her.

"Read it, pray," he entreated, thrusting his note into her hand.

She looked round startled, frowned when she recognized him, dropped his note on the ground, saying, "Don't be ridiculous!" and hastened after the others, while Otto, mortified and angry, picked up the despised note and followed her.

Beneath the oaks he found an unusual stir. The Freiherr von Dönninghausen had appeared unexpectedly, and was making his way, amid all kinds of friendly greetings, and accompanied by his inseparable escort, Leo, to where the tables were spread. As Otto appeared, his grandfather, looking around the circle, asked after Johanna.

No one could answer him; she had not been seen for an hour. Aunt Thekla had supposed that Johanna was with the younger people; Magelone thought she had stayed with the older ones; the rest seemed to be reminded of her for the first time.

The Freiherr knitted his brows; this was not the degree of consideration his grand-daughter had a right to expect.

"It is a pity that she is not here," he said, his head erect, and with a look that was almost a menace around the circle. "I bring her a letter——"

"From Dr. Werner?" Aunt Thekla asked, interrupting him. "Have you had one from Johann Leopold?"

"Yes; he sends you his love," the Freiherr replied. "I will tell you about it by and by; at present I wish particularly for Johanna."

"I will call her," said Elfrida; and to the horror of her mother and sister she yelled, "Johanna!" at the top of her voice several times.

At the first call Leo pricked his ears, and the second had not died away before he began to bark, and plunged into the thicket, whence he soon appeared, carrying his head proudly and wagging his tail, followed by Johanna.

"Aha, there she is!" said the Freiherr. "Thank you, Countess; pray don't trouble yourself any further."

As Johanna emerged from the thicket and saw her grandfather and the eyes of all present surveying her with curious, annoyed, and searching glances, she hesitated for a moment and blushed. Quickly recovering herself, however, she advanced, and begged pardon for having yielded to an old propensity and strayed so far into the forest that it had taken her a long time to find her way back.

As she spoke, the Freiherr looked at her with angry surprise. Although her brow was smooth and her eyes bright, he fancied that she had been weeping,—she whom he had always found so brave. How they must have neglected and insulted her! But he would show them that disrespect of her was disrespect of himself; he would not stay here a moment longer.

"Here, Johanna, take your letter," he said, kindly. "Feed your eyes with the sight of the sugar-plum for a while, and then call Magelone; we must go home. You are ready, my dear Thekla?"

She was always ready to do his bidding, and instantly began to take leave, for she knew but too well from her brother's erect bearing and forced smile that the entreaties and remonstrances with which he was besieged on all sides would be of no avail. With a cold "Sorry to say no, Countess! No, thank you, my dear colonel," he refused all invitations to supper, and to put an end to the tiresome entreaties, slowly set out for home. Count Klausenburg and the Forstmeister walked part of the way with him. Aunt Thekla, detained by loud regrets, waited for her niece. Everything seemed so usual and commonplace,—no one dreamed what the consequences of the next few moments would be.

Magelone was standing, bathed in the golden light of evening, in the midst of the forest meadow, talking with some of her friends, when Otto, who was contemplating her with ardent eyes, heard his grandfather's words. All the spirit of bravado of his race stirred within him,—she must not and should not escape him without having heard or read his request; and, hoping in some way to force her to listen, he joined Johanna.

Magelone saw the pair approaching; she guessed what were Otto's intentions, and a wayward smile played about her delicate lips. Just then Leo pushed between Johanna and Otto; a wild idea occurred to the young man.

"Laugh on; you shall heed me!" he said to himself; and restraining the dog with his left hand, he took his note in his right, and held it up for an instant. A flash in Magelone's eyes betrayed that she had seen it, and she then saw him slip the folded paper under the leather lining of Leo's brass collar. Now she would be forced to take it, and once in her possession, Otto was quite certain she would read it. Sure of his victory, he joined Amelie Klausenburg, who just then approached him.

But Magelone, too, was a Dönninghausen,—she was not to be compelled. Paying no heed to Leo, she listened to Johanna's report of her grandfather's message.

"I should like to stay," she replied, to the entreaties of her companion, "but grandpapa must not be kept waiting." And bidding a hasty farewell, she accompanied Johanna, passing Otto with a little mocking nod. Immediately afterwards Aunt Thekla joined them, and they all three followed the Freiherr by a side-path, Leo running at some distance in front of them.

"She will take the note when I am not in sight," thought Otto, as he looked after her.

But, as he ran, a twig caught in Leo's collar. He twitched his head away: something white fell on the ground; the dog picked it up in his mouth and trotted on, wagging his tail in high glee at the opportunity for exhibiting his talent as a messenger.

Magelone paused, fairly paralyzed by terror, and even Otto's heart beat fast.

Leo went up to the Freiherr, who, engaged in conversation with his companions, did not at first notice the animal. But the dog thrust his nose into his master's hand. How clearly it all stood out against the evening sky! And finally the Freiherr took the paper, probably supposing it some message sent him by Leo, opened it, and put it in his pocket. Then he walked on, Count Klausenburg and the Forstmeister on either side of him. What would Magelone not have given for a glimpse of his face!

She could not follow him in this uncertainty. A sign brought Otto to her side, and stepping into the thicket, so as not to be seen if the Freiherr turned round, she asked, "What did you write to me?"

"Do not be worried," he made answer, but his tone betrayed that he was far from easy in his own mind; "the note was not addressed; there is no name in it. I wanted to speak to you. I asked for an interview——"

"Of me!" she interrupted him; "of me, Johann Leopold's betrothed!" She clasped her hands. "Think again," she continued, after a pause; "did you really not mention my name? You must have addressed me by some title. Tell me the truth."

"Some title, yes,—just at the end," he said, hesitating.

"What—what was it?" she cried, quivering with impatience.

"My only love!" he whispered, and tried to take her hand. She thrust him from her.

"You called me that?" she exclaimed; "me—Johann Leopold's betrothed? How can I dare to look grandpapa in the face!" Suddenly her eyes flashed like lightning. She stepped up close to Otto, laid both hands on his arm, and said, almost inaudibly, "There is only one way out of this. You wrote that note to Johanna. If grandpapa asks, it was for Johanna. You must say so,—you must!" And without waiting for his reply she hurried after the others.

A BETROTHAL

The evening passed without any mention by the Freiherr of Otto's note; Johann Leopold's letter was the absorbing topic. Magelone breathed more freely; perhaps, after all, her grandfather had not recognized Otto's handwriting. The note was forgotten, and all danger was over.

She was mistaken. The Freiherr had seen at a glance that the scrawl was from Otto, and as soon as he found himself alone in his room after supper he took the note from his pocket to read it again, and decide what course to take in the matter.

It was not addressed, but the Freiherr was as sure that it was destined for Johanna as he was that it was written by Otto. It ran thus:

"You torture me, and misunderstand me. I can bear it no longer. Grant me, I conjure you, one-quarter of an hour's explanation, but not with Aunt Thekla's eyes looking on; they strike me dumb. Will you await me at half past ten in the birchen hut? I will come so soon as I have escorted the Klausenburgs back to K——. Or would you rather it should be to-morrow morning early, between five and six? Tell me, when will you hear what I have to say? My only love, you must hear me."

"'Only love,'" the Freiherr repeated, and his brow clouded. How could Johanna, with her earnest and profound nature, have given this superficial creature the right to address her thus? and why had pride and gratitude not prevented her from bringing a new mésalliance upon Dönninghausen? But what was Dönninghausen to her? She was the child of her mother, and Agnes, proud, pure, unselfish though she was, had outraged family honour, duty, and conscience when beguiled by that scoundrel's whisper of love.

The Freiherr arose and began to pace to and fro. The soft breath of the summer night wafted in through the open window gradually soothed him. He told himself that he must hear what Johanna had to say before he condemned her. It was plain from the note that she was displeased with Otto. Perhaps he persecuted her, in spite of her efforts to prevent it, with an affection which she regarded as unjustifiable and misplaced. At all events, Otto must be brought to reason, and an end put to this fresh nonsense.

Suddenly the Freiherr stood still; his glance was attracted by a letter lying beside the lamp on the table,—the letter that he had received to-day from Johann Leopold,—and the scales seemed to fall from his eyes. "No, there need be no end," he murmured, continuing his walk. "If they love each other it might make all things right!"

Johann Leopold's letter had increased the Freiherr's anxiety with regard to his successor and heir. The strength and improvement which the sick man had hoped for from his travels had not yet resulted from them.

He regretted that the novelty of his daily impressions so exhausted him as to leave little room for enjoyment, adding that he had resigned all hope of ever being able to fill any important position in life, and that he begged his grandfather no longer to cherish any illusions with regard to him. If it really should happen that Johann Leopold resigned the heirship, it must devolve upon Waldemar, since Otto, the next in line of precedence, had proved only too clearly that he was utterly incapable of bearing the responsibility of so large an estate. But would he recognize this fact himself, and join with his grandfather in cutting off the entail? Endless lawsuits, family dissensions, deterioration of the property, might be the result of the change; and, moreover, the Freiherr would thus lay hands upon the right of inheritance, to defend which he had always held to be the sacred duty of the nobility. But here, in Otto's attachment to Johanna, a way presented itself out of all his perplexities. If Otto contracted a mésalliance, by so doing he voluntarily relinquished Dönninghausen, which would devolve of right to Waldemar and Waldemar's children; Johanna would take the position in the family which her grandfather desired for her, and—better than all—if she loved Otto she was the one woman to give him firmness and steadiness of character. The lovely legend of the redeeming power of love, which has beguiled so many a youthful heart, was here a siren song in the ears of an old man, singing his doubts and cares to sleep.

The next morning early the Freiherr sent to Klausenburg for Otto, who made his appearance without delay.

"It is terrible to be persecuted by misfortune as I am," he said to himself, as he went up-stairs. "Every stupidity I commit comes to the old man's ears, and he instantly falls foul of me. And what have I done, after all? I should like to know whether Johann Leopold and Waldemar have not had their escapades too? But everything always goes smoothly and calmly for them, while I am just like that wretched animal—I think it was a goat—which the Phœnicians, or Assyrians, or somebody, loaded with all their sins and drove into the wilderness."

Thus conscious of his martyrdom, he presented himself before his grandfather, who was seated at his study-table awaiting him.

After the first salutations the Freiherr requested him to take a chair beside him. His face was stern, but did not wear the expression of annihilating contempt which Otto had seen upon it more than once.

"This note, which an odd chance has put into my hands, was written by you," the old Herr began, holding out the unlucky scrap of paper. "I should like to know to whom?"

Otto looked down. Could he betray Magelone? Impossible! But it was just as impossible to do as she wished and mention Johanna.

"Pardon me, I cannot tell you," the young man replied.

The Freiherr knitted his brows. "In this matter your discretion is the merest make-believe. The note was written to Johanna,—that is clear. Has she seen it?"

"On my honour, she neither has seen it nor ever would have seen it——"

"Prevarication—forever!" the Freiherr interrupted, impatiently. "Whether she has seen it or not, you wrote it to her, and I ask you what right you have to entreat her for an interview and to call her what you do here?"

The Freiherr handed him the note. Otto, who remembered its contents imperfectly, saw clearly that there was no way to save Magelone except by acting upon his grandfather's unconscious hint; but the falsehood would not come glibly. He looked down mute, while the Freiherr arose and paced to and fro in increasing impatience. Suddenly he paused in front of his grandson. "Is there an understanding between you?" he asked.

"No," Otto replied, in a tone that carried conviction with it.

After a pause his grandfather asked again, "Do you think your affection is reciprocated?"

"I—I do not know," Otto stammered.

"Nonsense! You must know!" the Freiherr roared, now thoroughly indignant. "You're not so over-modest, and when it is a question of your whole future life——or, can it be?"—and his eyes flashed fire from beneath his bushy brows,—"have you dared to trifle with Johanna? In that case, my boy, you will answer it to me. Johanna is my daughter's child, and a Dönninghausen, even although she does not bear the name."

Otto sat as if spell-bound by his grandfather's angry eyes. "I assure you——" he began at last.

"No fine phrases!" the Freiherr interrupted him again, but far more gently. "Prove that you are in earnest. Put an end to misunderstandings, and you shall have my blessing."

Otto started up. He had prepared himself to endure violent reproaches and perhaps temporary banishment from Dönninghausen, but to be obliged to betroth himself—to Johanna! What would his former comrades, what would the Klausenburg sisters, above all, what would Magelone say?

"My dear sir," he stammered, as all this flashed through his brain like lightning, "how is this possible? My affairs——"

"Are certainly not in a condition to make you a very brilliant match," the Freiherr sarcastically completed his sentence. "But Johanna is magnanimous. If she loves you, she will not be calculating. Her maternal inheritance is not large, but it will suffice to make you modestly independent——"

"My dear sir, neither am I calculating," Otto interposed.

The Freiherr laughed contemptuously. "I scarcely need to be told that; but all these are secondary considerations. The point at issue is whether Johanna feels sufficient affection and esteem for you to allow of her intrusting to you her future, and to this question you must ask the answer yourself. You can do it immediately. I have nothing more to say to you."

Otto arose. "The affair is not so easily disposed of as you seem to think," he rejoined, with a forced smile. "I must first make my peace with Johanna——"

"What is the quarrel between you? Yesterday you thought a quarter of an hour enough——" The Freiherr broke off, and added, frowning, "Stay here. I will send for Johanna. I must see myself how matters stand between you. She shall not be sacrificed." He rang the bell, desired the servant to ask Fräulein Johanna to come to him, and then continued to pace the apartment.

Otto went to the window. He was indignant. His cheeks glowed, his pulses throbbed. "Magelone is right," he thought. "My grandfather is infatuated with regard to Johanna. Sacrificed, indeed—to me! And to have to listen and submit,—bind myself for life!" But perhaps it would not come to that. Johanna might refuse him. The actor's daughter refuse a Freiherr von Dönninghausen! He bit his lips to keep from laughing aloud in scorn and anger.

Then he heard the door open, and as involuntarily he looked round, Johanna entered the room. She glanced in some distress from her grandfather to Otto. It was plain that there had been a tempest here.

The Freiherr requested her to sit down, and then walked once or twice to and fro in silence. He suddenly found what had seemed before so simple difficult to put into words. At last his eye fell upon Otto's note on the table, and he gave it to her. "This note," he said, with a frown, "which was destined for you, has fallen into my hands and acquainted me with matters of which I had not the faintest suspicion,—a state of affairs that must be arranged without delay. I hope you will lighten my task for me by perfect frankness. First, read it."

She did so. He saw her astonishment turn to painful embarrassment, and as she dropped the note in her lap he felt sorry for her and wished to help her. "Do not think, my child, that I am angry with you," he said more kindly, taking a seat opposite her. "I only want a frank confession of how matters stand between Otto and yourself, and what you have done to put such nonsense into his head,—meetings at night in the garden when you might talk together all day long. What does it mean? Speak!"

His voice had grown more angry, and his eyes flashed. "Speak! speak!" he repeated, while she struggled for composure, which, however, she attained.

"My dear grandfather," she said, "I assure you that I do not myself understand——"

Otto did not allow her to proceed. Stepping forward so that he stood beside the Freiherr and confronted her, he said, quickly, "Dear Johanna, forgive the thoughtlessness that has caused you this painful scene. Your repulse of me yesterday in the forest made me frantic. I could no longer endure our alienation."

Johanna, who had been looking up at him, cast down her eyes beneath his ardent gaze. Her pulses throbbed: she trembled.

"I know," Otto went on, and the more he said the more he talked himself into a certain sincerity,—"I know that my conduct towards you has often been such as to justify misapprehension; but all my shortcomings were owing to my feeling insecure of your regard. Forgive me, Johanna. Believe in me as you did formerly; trust me again——"

The Freiherr sprang up. "Is there to be no end of all this?" he cried. "Come to the point, man, if you can; and if not, let some one else speak for you. Johanna, my child," he went on more gently, "I have already seen that Otto is not regarded by you with indifference; but the question is,—and I pray you to take serious counsel with yourself before you reply,—is your feeling for him strong enough to overcome his weakness and folly, and can you trust him to make you happy, that your marriage may be such as is commanded of God and worthy of our name? If you can say 'yes' to all this, dear child, I will give you my blessing from the very bottom of my heart."

As his grandfather spoke, Otto had stepped to Johanna's side and taken her hand. "Johanna," he whispered, bending over her when the Freiherr paused, "you cannot doubt, you cannot hesitate; be mine you must!"

The Freiherr, too, now approached her, and there was such a fulness of love and happiness in the tearful eyes that she raised to his own that he clasped her in his arms with a fervent "God bless you, my child! God bless you both!" he continued, as he put her hand into Otto's; and as the young man received his trembling betrothed in his arms, he really felt that he had gained what had long been the object of his desire.